The Stone Bastion
Long, long ago.. You may have heard of it. The 4th Crusade. It was an absolute disaster. The Crusaders ended up destroying Constantinople (the city was Orthodox, but that was still Christian). Some bandits rode off from the mess, drunk. They had looted some coins, but were running out. They were Jonathan (Splitblade he was commonly called), Christopher (the Skirt Pillager), and Francis (Goldhands). They were riding around Mount Ararat, and noticed their lack of treasure. Goldhands said, "There's a town around here. Stone Bastion. We 'Crusaders' can 'ask' for funds, and be off. What do you think?" The others smiled, and nodded. The Stone Bastion was named after a popular pub in the town. It hosted those who scaled the mountain of Ararat, and was a rich hotspot of activity. Our trio weren't the only ones who thought to pillage the town. The band was strolling merrily on the slopes. Then, Jonathan paused. "Quiet. Voices ahead," he whispered to the others. "You sure? Nothing?" "Yes, captain. The town's completely abandoned." "That is not good at all. Search the inn." "We did, sir. It's all empty except for one goblet that has what appears to be red wine in it." "What material is the goblet?" "Gold." "Bring it to me, and we'll leave this place." Jonathan pulled out his dagger. It was split in half from dueling with a high-ranking captain in Constantinople. He sneaked up to the captain, grabbed the man by his hair, and slit his throat. Christopher whispered up to him, "Is it clear?" "Yes," Splitblade responded. "Look around. How many?" "The goblet man took 2 others with him, and there are 6 others about 300 yards away. They had 10. Now 9. It's soon to be none." He crept back to his companions, who had unsheathed their own daggers. They crawled among boulders to a campfire. There was a sentry on a small ridge a short distance away from the camp, and four sat at the fire. "Where's the last?" the Skirt Pillager muttered. He turned around and saw an archer aiming at him from atop a boulder. "'Ello," the bowman said. "Greetings," Francis responded. "May I ask why you murdered our kind captain and are crawling towards our cozy fire?" "No, you may not." "I don't think you're in a position to be saying that, my friend," the archer chuckled. Suddenly, Splitblade threw a dagger into the man's throat. He fell back, choking on his blood. The others yelled angrily and charged the trio. Splitblade ducked beneath an ax, and stabbed the attacker in the belly. The man fell over in pain, but his victor went on and stabbed another in the eye. Goldhands had a gold-hilted steel dagger. He dodged his attacker's slow mace, and stabbed the man thrice in the heart. The Skirt Pillager faced a strong opponent. The man had a shortsword, and stabbed quickly. He cut Christopher 3 times before the man roared, and punched him. He pulled out his longsword, with a look of pure rage in his eyes. The man on the ground managed another cut on the Skirt Pillager's leg before a longsword plunged into his chest. Jonathan saw the sentry sprinting away. He picked up a bow from the archer that he had killed, and took 3 arrows. He ran as fast as he could. He ran in vain. The sentry reached the goblet men, and the 4 ran towards our lovely trio. Jonathan fired an arrow, but missed. He fired another, only grazing the sentry's ear. Splitblade ran back to his companions. He pulled out a longsword, prepared for the oncoming onslaught. The sentry stood in the back and let the others line up for a duel. The wind blew dust, as the fighters got into battle positions. Longsword versus longsword. The duel began. Splitblade surged forward, violently striking his foe's (the goblet man) blade. His foe buckled after 10 strikes, and a longsword hewed his right shoulder open, spilling blood all over. Splitblade felt a sharp pain in his leg. An arrow. He bellowed in rage and went towards the sentry, but fell to the ground. Francis dodged his opponent's blows. He only received a small cut on his left arm and a minor cut under his right eye. His opponent paused to recover, but never did. Francis pulled a blade covered with blood out of the man's skull. The sentry was walking towards Splitblade while slowly nocking an arrow. Goldhands picked up a bow, and shot the archer in his eye, sending the man to the ground. The Skirt Pillager was even with his opponent. Neither attacked too quickly, or too slowly. Neither was tired, or too energetic. After 2 minutes of strafing and occasional attacks, Christopher saw a weakness. The man's left elbow was unguarded. Christopher went for it, but only received a cut on his left elbow. In anger, he rushed his opponent, and knocked him over in three swings, killing the man with his fourth. "I should have done that sooner!" he chuckled before sitting down and checking the severity of his wounds. Splitblade howled in pain as the arrow was pushed out of his leg. Goldhands bandaged the wound with a piece of his clothes, and looked at the battle scene. All 10 that Splitblade had spotted were dead. "Bleeding on the ground is nice, but I think we should start moving now. The goblet man lacked a goblet. Perhaps he didn't find it. It could have been painted. Let's see," Goldhands said. "Aye aye captain," Christopher grunted as he rose up. He walked over to Jonathan, and held the man up. They walked up the rocky road of the Stone Bastion. They finally reached the fabled pub at the top of the town. Or did they? "What the hell?" Splitblade said. "The damn pub's up and ran!" "It would seem so," Goldhands replied. "Wait a second, the goblet's still there!" the Skirt Pillager exclaimed. The men rushed towards it. Goldhands picked it up, examined it, and started to hand it to Christopher; then he froze. His face went blank and emotionless while he just stared at the object. His flesh wounds started to spew copious amounts of blood. Instead of falling to the ground, the blood floated into the goblet. It should have overflowed, but it seemed to drink the blood. Red wine. The other backed off, terrified of the unholy magic. They heard a chuckle, and turned around to see a strange figure. His, no hers, no his, no its clothes-clothes? The thing existed, but didn't. It kept morphing, or was it? It walked to the group, or away? Chuckling? Sobbing? Cackling. Cackling in sadistic glee. "The Holy Grail. Do you like it?" the thing whispered, or yelled. WHAT DID IT DO? The world shifted. Churned. IT. "The townspeople did. I like them." ENDS. DON'T. TRUST. HIM. HER. IT. IT. IT. IT.